nodded toward the occupant of the chair—"there is not the element of necessitous haste. Of course," he added tentatively, "I am at your service at any time." [Pg 13] He rose as he spoke, and laid the document on the table. For a moment David Stires sat in silence. Then he said, with a glint of the old ironic fire: "You should have been a special pleader, Sanderson. There's no client too bad for them to make out a case for! Well ... well ... we won't sign to-night. I will read it over again when I am more equal to it." His visitors made their adieux, and as the door closed upon them, the girl came to the wheel-chair and wistfully drew the parchment from his hands. "You're a good girl, Jessica," he said, "too good to a rascal you've never known. But there—go to your room, child. I can ring for Blake when I want anything." For long the old man sat alone, musing in his chair, his eyes on the painted portrait on the wall. The image there was just as young and fair and joyous as though yesterday she had stood in bridal white beside him,[Pg 14] instead of so long ago—so long ago! His lips moved. "In return for the care and sorrow," he muttered, "all the days of his life!" [Pg 14] At length he sighed and took up a magazine. He was thinking of Harry Sanderson. "How like!" he said aloud. "So Sanderson sowed his wild oats, too!... When he stood there, with the light on his face—when he talked—I—I could almost have thought it was Hugh!" [Pg 15] [Pg 15] CHAPTER II DOCTOR MOREAU CHAPTER II DOCTOR MOREAU Harry Sanderson and the judge parted at the gate, and Harry walked slowly home in the moonlight.
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